


An unexpected houseguest

by Aeliz



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:45:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeliz/pseuds/Aeliz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The doorbell rang. Months passed without the doorbell ringing. Sherlock’s groupies always just let themselves in, which resulted in the infrequent but shocking living room sexcapades. Joan would prefer if they too used the doorbell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An unexpected houseguest

The doorbell rang. Months passed without the doorbell ringing. Sherlock’s groupies always just let themselves in, which resulted in the infrequent but shocking living room sexcapades. Joan would prefer if they too used the doorbell. As she strolled to the door, six inch platforms heels resounding firmly on the dusty floor, she noticed a young woman – early twenties – waiting patiently on the stoop in a yellow eyelet dress and modest white sweater. Not his usual visitor. Joan opened the door and the young woman’s smile bloomed across her face. Curly brown hair, big green eyes, short, of average size, enthusiastic. The stranger stuck out her hand for Joan to shake.

“Hello! I’m Catherine!” Joan was momentarily thrown by the manners. It had been a long time since a visitor of Sherlock’s had manners.

“Joan. Watson. How do you do?” The manners felt odd on her tongue, the firm handshake more so. But nice. So comforting. Societal norms, she had missed them. 

“Very well, thank you!” Was Catherine's polite response. “Is Mr. Holmes available?” Catherine was now developing a fidget, the safety of societal norms gone she now seemed to be feeling the anxiety of the meaning behind her visit. Joan observed the girl, color rising on her chest, her left foot wiggling. An airplane carry on bag obscured behind her. Who was this woman to Sherlock?

“Yes, come in -” Joan resisted the urge to add ’sweetie’ at the end of her sentence. She had the overwhelming urge to mother this young woman. Suddenly she seemed to wither a bit in front of Joan. Anxiety tightening her face and causing her to clench her hands. Catherine picked up the battered suitcase, one corner of it severely dented and Joan hoped there wasn't anything of too much value in it. 

The large wooden door to the brownstone creaked a bit as Joan opened it wider to allow Catherine in. “Sherlock is just through here... Sherlock!” Joan bellowed as they rounded the corner.

“Yes?” He spun to face them, papers clutched in front of his face and a cup of tea in his other hand. He looked up. His eyes landed squarely on Catherine, observing her head to toe. And again. Once more. Catherine looked on the verge of fainting. Then, all at once like a string being drawn taught she pulled herself together again.

“Hello, uncle,” now Joan felt faint. Sherlock turned gray and very carefully set his tea down. He looked at her again, this time he recognized her.

“Catie.” She grinned again. He grinned again. She crossed the room and threw herself at him. Momentarily he seemed to have forgotten how to hug. Then he wrapped his arms around her and spun her. “You’re grown!” He exclaimed, laughing as she giggled. 

Joan sat in a chair and breathed carefully.

Sherlock put Catherine, Catie, down and began to look at her as though she was a puzzle that needed solving. “Where is your mother? Is everything alright? Does your father know you’ve come?”

It was Catherine’s turn to look miffed. “She said she had called you...” Sherlock said nothing and continued to look at her for an explanation. This was a tactic he sometimes used with suspects, leave them in silence until they babble to fill it and tell you everything you need to know. “I’ve, um, I got into NYU. Mother thought it would be best if I stayed with you... To save some money on housing. I didn't get a full scholarship... ... I'm planning to waitress and cover the remainder of my tuition. I can cook, or clean? I won’t be a burden, I swear it! You won't even know I’m here --”

“Where did your mother go?” He was very stern now, frowning at what the jumble of words had truly revealed. Catherine looked around the room for a way to avoid the question. Joan leaned forward, elbows on her knees and hands tucked under her chin. She gave what she hoped was a supportive half smile. 

“She’s in Argentina, I believe. On her honeymoon. She was married a few days ago.” The crease on Sherlocks’s forehead deepened. 

“Is your father aware?”

“Oh, yes. Mother spoke to him a few weeks ago. I had wanted to go to school in London, but he is traveling too much to keep an eye on me. She thought it would be too difficult to adjust there without him.” She was fidgeting again, the edge of her skirt getting a severe manhandling.

“Of course. Well, my dear, it would be an honor to have you here. I would be quite pleased to look after you.” The relief on her face painful to look at. Joan realized this girl had been abandoned. God knows what her relationship to Mycroft was like. Joan suspected he preferred to ignore her existence. Her mother seemed like an interesting piece of work. She watched as Sherlock guided her into what had been Irene’s room. He shut the door behind him as he came back out a few minutes later.

“Joan, please gather as much information as you can about Penny Goodchild. I need to call Mycroft.” He headed out the front door, cell phone in hand.


End file.
